Yobanashi Deceive
by North13
Summary: Sure Mathew isn't being bullied but, there are always other ways to feel bad about yourself. these are his. Inspired by the cover of the song with the same name by Juby Phonic.
1. Chapter 1

"Hey Kumakoffy, are you up for a little tail?" Mathew asked his white cat as they lay together on his bed. Mathew grimaced, "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. That sentence wasn't meant to come out that way. I meant a story, that type of tail."

Kumajiro seemed to be giving him a reproachful look, flicking his fluffy tail back and forth and giving Mathew a stare only an albino Maine Coon cat was capable of. A kind of stare that even when playing seemed to say, "Really? How dumb are you?"

"I'm being completely honest here Kuma, I swear I didn't mean it like that, jeez Kuma, lighten up." Mathew paused for a moment, considering his current actions.

"I'm arguing with a cat, you can't even speak back to me and I'm just thinking up your responses. I guess I'm really just arguing with myself then, right? I mean you can't even talk and I am really the only one speaking so that means I'm arguing with myself. Oh well, I already knew I was hopeless, these small revelations make no difference to me anymore. It's not like I have anyone else to talk to. All right, so um, what I wanted to talk about has nothing to do with those stupid, silly little puns. That wasn't what I wanted to talk about at all."

Mathew lay back on his bed, relaxing against its comforting softness supporting him. Kumajiro curled up more at his side, scotching a bit closer to Mathew to become more comfortable as well.

Kumajiro started to knead his front paws against Mathew's left side, his sharp claws flashing out each time he stretched his paws out to bestow slight pinpricks of pain and discomfort onto that side of Mathew's stomach. It tickled more than anything though, so Mathew caught his paws, trying to find the right words to scold him. Mathew swore Kuma's face looked like it was smiling mischievously at him.

"Hey now, don't do that, it hurts." Mathew sighed.

"My question for you Kuma, is this: what is the point in life? Pretty heavy topic huh? But really, there are so many people in this world now. It's not like I have any hope of making a difference and yet, here I go with my life, doing useless little things that probably won't help anyone when all is said and done in the end. What's the point in it all if you can't help anyone?

What's the point in it all if you can't seem to identify that one emotion that everyone else seems to have, and yet you don't? That feeling called happiness. Why can't I seem to find it? What is it that's so wrong with me Kuma?

Do I just have too much going on in my life? But, whenever I try to cut it down I become too apathetic; I lose even more interest in my life.

It seems like I just keep going through this one never ending pattern, a single cycle I just keep going through again and again. I go and fill my life up to the brim with a million and one activities; my clubs and what needs to be done for each of them. And then, I always find a few more things to fill up the rest of my life. And here is where the pattern starts; there will always be that one thing that comes up to the forefront of my mind to be identified as "Most Exciting".

I stick with it for a while, I become obsessed with it, I give it my all the whole time. And then, I lose interest first in everything else I do, I just stop giving it my all in the other activities, and then I lose interest and stop doing my best with my obsession at the time.

After that I either find something totally new or one thing I'd been doing before catches my interest again and the whole process starts over again.

I'm sick of it Kumakichi. How can I stay interested in all of it all of the time, always? Hey, Kuma?

But of course you can't answer and I have no one else to ask. So, the answer stays the same. I don't know. I still don't know what to do Kuma."

Mathew got up from his bed and turned off the lights keeping his room from darkness; lying back down on his bed Kuma crawled over to sleep on top of his chest.

"I feel like I'm lying all the time Kuma. But, does it really count as lies?

What is this thing called love that everyone else my age seems to be obsessed with? Why don't I get to know what it is? What can be so great about another person that you can claim that you love them? How do you know if you're in love? What does it mean to love another person, like truly love someone?

How do you know if you even have a crush on someone? Is there a manual for that kind of stuff? A how-to book you can always refer to? How can you tell if you care about another person Kuma? I can't even tell if I care about you!

Does that mean I'm lying to my family whenever I say "I love you" to them? I don't know what love means, what right have I to keep lying to my family when I don't know if I feel any love for them?

I've heard love described as a fierce yearning to be with someone, a yearning, a need, I think it's just a want, to be with them for your whole life, and if possible all of theirs. I've been told that if they were to leave your life you would cry at their absence.

I don't miss my family Kuma, ever. I spend half of my time away from half of my family at all times. You know, because of their joint custody Kuma. Either I'm with my English Dad for half of the week or I'm with my French Papa for the other half of the week. I'm never with all of my family at any one time.

Even my brother, even though the reason Papa and Dad have joint custody is because they didn't want to separate us fully which is pretty funny because they didn't know each other before then, but even though there's the joint custody Alfred still spends more time with Dad instead of going back and forth with me.

Yet, I never miss him either. I never miss any of them.

I spend my entire summer away from all of them too, three months away from them and yet I don't miss them.

I have never cried for any of my dead relatives either. I lied to my parents for sure about that too. When my uncle died, I never cried. It didn't seem to bother me at all. I just told Dad that I was sad though, because he was crying. It was too awkward for me, I didn't want him to feel weak. Dad is strong, that's the way I've always thought of him as, that's the way he should stay in my mind. So I cried, not from the death, but from a small pinch to my forearm that I squeezed as hard as I could. Does that count as crying Kuma?

Well, I guess this will probably come in handy when I'm older, right Kuma? Adults are always expected to have a tight control of their emotions, I've got that down pat, so pesky emotions like sadness not bothering me will be good then; at that time.

It will be good, right? It's not bad that I don't care about other humans? I know I care about you guys at least though Kuma. You, and the other cats Dad and Papa have. I know I care about you guys. I still cry when I think of any of the deaths that have already happened before you came to live with me. But, I can't identify that feeling of caring yet, so does that count as caring?

It makes me-I… don't actually know what it makes me feel like when I think about how I might not love you guys. I think it puzzles me, to think about whether or not I truly love all of my cats, including you Kuma.

It's too bad that you will never be able to answer me. Always my only best friend will have to stay myself. Though that's because humans can never seem to count those different from themselves as being able to be called a friend, or in many cases human.

You're not human Kuma and only humans can be called friends. That's what everyone seems to think. Why else would people not count their pets among their friends? So, I don't know if we can really be called friends Kuma. You're definitely the closest to me, that's for sure. But, you also can't help me with any of my problems and I think that's what friends are supposed to be for; someone to rely on when you need it. You can't do it, so I guess you're not my friend Kuma. Then, if you're not my friend, who can I honestly count as my friend?

I don't know Kumakicha, I don't know anything about that kind of stuff."

Mathew got up from his bed and paced trying to be careful not to bump into anything in the dark and wake everyone up with the noise that would cause. Kumajiro stayed expressionless to his feelings of pain, or at least, that's what it seemed like to Mathew.

"I guess I'm still just wasting all my precious words like I have always done. I just need to stay quiet and watch the other kids in my class some more. Maybe their actions will be able to tell me the answers to at least a few of my questions." Finally, for what seemed like the first time that day, Mathew smiled.

"I guess you are my friend Kuma. Thanks for listening to me talk like that. That really did help me a lot."

Mathew got back into bed and ruffled the top of his cat's fluffy head before giving him a small kiss to rest on the top of his small head.

"Good night Kuma."

This time going into his bed, Mathew was able to fall asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

"Like really, how are we helping any people in the long run? Everyone, each individual person, what are we doing that will ever really matter much in any way?"

It was the next morning already and Mathew was talking to his pet cat Kumajiro, named by his Japanese friend that had moved away-it had been his farewell present to Mathew.

"Nothing we ever do individually will help others, except for those select few people that make a tremendous amount of difference in the world at large. But, it's ridiculous to think that you might be one of those people. A person's chance at becoming one of them is very slim, oh so slim. There is almost no chance that we will ever make any difference in somebody else's life at all."

Mathew threw the shirt he'd chosen to wear that day to school down onto his bed beside Kumajiro along with his favorite red bunny-hug.

"Oh, this is just all so silly Kuma! What is the point in living if your life won't matter? Why would you keep it? If your life doesn't make a difference what is the point to it? I don't know Kumakoffy, I just don't know. Why don't I know anything Kuma? Why am I not a good enough of a person to figure out such simple questions like these? If I can't even figure out my reason for being alive, why should I stay here in this world? Isn't that what my parents are always telling me whenever I do something dumb, 'if something doesn't have a purpose in life, it has no reason being there'? Do I then have no reason for being here? How can I find a valid reason to live Kuma-something? Please help me Kuma in the one way I know that you can't. I want you to reassure me, to tell me I have a place in life, and to, hopefully, distract me from myself, and please, just say something."

Kumajiro said nothing, he just stared at Mathew from his bed as all cats seem to do, saying nothing but seeming to say with their eyes absolutely nothing. It was just another empty stare that told Mathew nothing about what his only friend was thinking. He had no other way to know his thoughts though. So, he was left with this, having a stare down with his cat as his brother tried to call him downstairs. Apparently they needed to go to school now.

Mathew dropped his gaze to the hard wood floor of his bedroom.

"I need to know this answer; but, nobody is answering me. I don't think anyone even knows the answer to my question. How do you find a way to live? Who could ever tell me that question's answer? If no one knows the answer though. Does that mean that, in the end, the majority of us have no reason to be here? If most of us have no purpose, why are we still here? I don't know. Goodbye Kuma, see you after school."

And with that, Mathew walked out the door and never looked back at the white cat on his bed that contrary to his own actions had been watching him the entire time. Sometimes you don't need to understand a person to want to help them. And yet, most of us have not the faintest clue in how to go about doing that helping. And so, Kumajiro stayed there, he was only a cat after all. Whatever his owner was going through, that was making him make those unusual faces and not-happy sounds, it would be figured out at some point, maybe.


	3. Chapter 3

'Why do these thoughts always have to stay with me? Why do they always stick in my mind? They're like cobwebs, they stay there even when you think you have gotten rid of the last of it and wait until you notice it again. Then more stuff gets tangled up in it and trapped. Little thoughts are like butterflies, they get caught easily and die as the web makes it that much easier for the spider to kill them. Like really, I fell asleep last night thinking about these thoughts and now that I'm awake, I'm thinking about it again. My thoughts have barely changed too. They're stuck on a loop. A never ending loop, a circle that will never break because it has no ends. The same thoughts repeating in my mind endlessly, over and over again, everyday, all of the time. The thoughts never really changing except for the way that they are said. I thought that thinking about things was supposed to let you come to a different conclusion or a new way of thinking. But, my thoughts haven't changed at all it seems. Is this yet another thing that I can't seem to do? And there the rest of the world is, able to do everything I can only try to think of. Why did I have to be the different one? I'm pretty unlucky then. Some people probably ask some of the same questions that I do, but not all of them. I get to be that one person that has to be alone. I'm the one person that is asking all of the questions everyone else seems to instinctively know the answer to. I'm unlucky.' Mathew thought to himself as he slowly plodded down the stairs to the dining room table to have his breakfast.

'What will it be for today's breakfast then? My first meal of the day, the way by which I will start it off and get ready for the rest of my day. How about some pancakes? Those are always good. Or maybe something else warm like pancakes? That's what I feel in the mood for.' Mathew checked the time on his watch, 7:46 am. 'Nope, it's too late to do that; there definetely will not be enough time for pancakes or anything else that needs to be cooked. School starts at 8:30, I only have a half hour to finish my morning routine. I'm moving much too slowly today for this to turn out to be a good day for me, I'm already really behind schedule, for crying out loud-why do I feel so tired? I slept more than five hours. I should feel rejuvenated. But, no, I sleep more than I usually do and I end up more tired than I usually am. Isn't that weird? My thoughts are jumping around again. Well, enough with that, I guess I'm stuck with plain old cereal today. I hate cereal. I used to like it, why don't I like it anymore? I don't know. I just dread eating it, it just doesn't seem like I'll enjoy its taste at all. I don't think I'd enjoy anythings taste right now. I'll need to wake up earlier tomorrow. Then I can have what I want to eat. Perhaps.'

Mathew resolved to himself as he grabbed a box of random cereal from the cupboard.

His parents were kind of weird in some things. Like with how they had this rule where they only ever bought cereal packages with movie or yogurt tickets/coupons on them. Which made the choice of cereals to choose from either not very enjoyable or not very varied. It all quite depended on how many cereal's had the deals on them when their family had their bi-weekly grocery run. It changed constantly. Sometimes there would be a lot and sometimes there would be none. The times where there were none they went without cereal. Such was life. There are always specific things you want and if you can't get them then you'll just have to go without. This was the way everyone lived. With needs and wants and neither being fully filled.

The only cereals his parents wouldn't get for them, refused to get for them even, was the kind that they had deemed "unhealthy". As far as Mathew could tell, he was the only person in his high school that had never had "Froot Loops". It was too unhealthy for his parents, too sugary to be eaten in their minds. Which was why of course that they had "Honey Nut Cheerios" in their cupboard. Like that wasn't sugary.

But, whatever. If it made his parents happy, fine, let them be helicopter parents. It didn't matter. They controlled everything else, let them have their cereal as well. They would be allowed to control everything. They care, and I don't. That's the honest truth of it.

'That's what parents are for anyways, right? They're the ones that have the responsibility to control everything you do. I'm just making their job easier by not resisting their command. Yes, that's it. I'm being good, I'm making their life so much easier. Are they happy with that? There are times when I wish that I could know what other people thought of me, right now the people I want to know the opinion of the most is definetely them, my parents. I want their opinion. I want to be told how good and bad I am, and what I still need to know about life. I want to be told it just like how I'm told what I am supposed to do, and what they need me to do. That's the way I want it spelled out for me. Nice and simple, straight to the point, so that I can understand it clearly. Simple minded people need things said simply. It's why they are called simple minded. It's a clue to others about how to say and explin things. Otherwise they end up like me, confused beyond even the understanding they can sometimes reach. I need to get smarter. That must be it. The reason why I don't already know all of these things must be because I'm not smart enough. I just need to become smarter. How will I do that though? And yet another thing I don't know.'


	4. Self mutilation

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

* * *

Another day at school. Another day of obsessing over grades, perfect by anyones measures but mine. At least that's what I've been told. "You're grades are great." "What do you mean they aren't good enough? They're fantastic. You're just being a perfectionist again. Who cares about their grades that much? School doesn't matter." but, it does to me. This was just another day full of stress. Maybe I should end it then? If I end it I won't have to worry about the deadlines and every percent lost. I won't have to scream at myself for being so stupid. Asking myself why I couldn't figure out that one thing that kept me from the perfect grade that I long for. There's no such thing as perfect, my ass. Of course there is, otherwise there'd be no meaning to getting a full, whole, **perfect** mark. I need it. Or else it was all for nothing. The past twelve years, the sleepless nights it would have meant nothing. All that studying. If that meant nothing then is all I've strived towards nothing as well? You are what you do. Then I am nothing. Things that don't serve a purpose should just disappear.'

'Shall I disappear? I don't know if I have the courage for it. I don't want to cut, and yet I do. But, I hate long sleeves. That's such a stupid reason for not cutting, for refusing to do something. It's silly. But, that will stay my answer for myself of why I haven't cut into my skin yet. I'll keep it. I want to feel the flesh under whatever blade I find to do the job part away from each other slowly and start to hurt, sting and make me want to stop. I want to feel like I'm brave in some way to keep going after I start to cry from the pain. I want to feel brave like that. I want to know that I can endure any hardship that comes my way. Being able to control the pain I feel will give me an edge, and advantage to others that can't control their pain. I could master what I feel by seeing my blood seep down my arm in a dark red flood to drip to the floor and cover it. My blood smoothly flowing in trails like veins on the outside of my skin instead of inside and contained. I don't want to feel contained anymore.'

'But, would it hurt? Even though I want to conquer my pain I don't want to feel it. I want to be painless. I want to get the reward without any hard work. I'm disgusting that's just lazy. I can't believe I keep refusing to cut and at the same time refusing my own body its desire to do something, anything, dangerous to feel alive. But, even arguing like this to myself I'm still afraid to get hurt.'

'I'm mostly afraid that it will hurt and not give me the relief I want to feel from doing it and that I've heard others feel from cutting themselves. That it will just be a nightmare. It would be just like me to be the odd one left out, like always. The only one to not feel relief. Of course it would happen to me. The only thing cutting would do would be to leave me with big, permanent, and painfully obvious scars that would just show others that all I really deserve is their pity. I don't anyones pity. I want myself. I just want to be able to feel joy, or any feeling really. Anything would be fine, except for more pain. So I guess cutting is out of the question then. Cutting would only cause pain. Cutting would be a mistake I couldn't ever fix. And I hate mistakes. I could never get rid of it. So, I guess I won't then.'

The school bell rings through the hallways. Students flood them, rushing out of classrooms on their way to the next one, hurrying against the short timer of the five minute breaks between classes. No one wants to be late.

'It's amazing how much time you have to think in a place dedicated to making you do and think about what they want the entire time. My grades aren't even dropping at all. It's barely even distracting me.'


End file.
